


At Henry's Place

by fiercy, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Chris Hemsworth and Henry Cavill [3]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Superman RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiercy/pseuds/fiercy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Chris Hemsworth/Henry Cavill storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG <a href="http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read">Citadel</a>. If you're interested in joining, please contact the mods as listed <a href="http://citadel-info.dreamwidth.org/995.html#cutid1">here</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	At Henry's Place

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-posting (archiving) of all logs for the Chris Hemsworth/Henry Cavill storyline in the BDSM RPS RPG [Citadel](http://citadel.dreamwidth.org/read). If you're interested in joining, please contact the mods as listed [here](http://citadel-info.dreamwidth.org/995.html#cutid1).

Dressed in dark blue board shorts, a white T and flip flops, Chris shows up at Henry's on the following Saturday with two boards under one arm and a six-pack in the other hand. He pushes the doorbell, listening to it chime inside, wondering if he might not have been better to call this off while he still could, especially with the way Henry's figured so prominently in his dreams all fucking week.

Henry's hand tightens on his water bottle for an instant when the doorbell sounds, his stomach dropping somewhere down into his shoes. What the hell was he thinking, agreeing to a day in shorts with this man about? This man who has started his pulse racing too fast more than once. There's a crack in his closet door after their drunken evening, and he'll be working frantically all day to patch it up.

Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to relax, Henry opens the door with a big smile, stepping back out of Chris's way. "Come in! You brought me a board, thank you! I thought we were going to have to make a quick trip up to the shops."

"I have a couple extras lying around," Chris says as he steps into the house. Sets the boards gently against the nearest wall. "You have a wetsuit?"

"I do. I've got the jetskies primed and ready, as well, in case we want to take a break from me tearing up my face in the sand." Henry grins and motions him into the house. "Make yourself at home while you're here. Please."

"Thanks." Chris looks around. Impressed. "Nice place."

Henry ducks his head slightly, smiling. "Thanks. I had help. Or should I say, I helped a little. Want me to take the beer?"

"Yeah, sure, thanks," Chris says, handing over the beer. "Who'd you help?"

"I've got a cooler on the beach. There's nothing quite the same as an ice bath, don't you think?" He's trying not to stare but damn it, Henry's memory had done the man a disservice.

"Hey, the closer the beer, the better," Chris says with a grin, his smile faltering a little as an image of Henry on his knees in front of him flashes through his mind. "Want me to bring the boards out?"

"Sure," Henry flashes him a smile. "Do you need to wetsuit up, first, or are you living dangerously?" Of course there's the possibility that Chris has it on under his board shorts, but Henry's much more invested in thinking of him naked under those.

"Nah, I've got to grab it from the car. I brought in the important stuff first. Boards, beer..." Chris is grinning again. "Give me a minute." He goes back out to the jeep for his suit and slings it over his shoulder. "I can suit up on the beach though," he says, coming back into the house and locking the front door behind him. "Although maybe we should crack open a beer or two. Relax the muscles a little," he adds with another grin, unable to stop staring at Henry. He's not usually this awkward and he wonders if the other man's noticed.

" _That_ sounds perfect." Henry gives him a tilt of his head toward the back deck, visible through the French doors. "It's a beautiful day out there."

"Absolutely gorgeous," Chris agrees, his eyes lingering on Henry before he finally looks where Henry's nodding. He picks up the boards and follows Henry outside. "You still didn't tell me who helped you set up the place," he points out.

"Oh! My mum. She's very good. Always working on someone's house here or there. I'll tell her that you approve." Settling into one of the chairs that overlooks the low railing, Henry digs for a cold beer, handing it off to Chris before finding room for the six pack he'd brought. He's studiously _not_ looking around. Sitting as he is, his eyes would be right where he decidedly does not want them to be. And where he wants them to be more than anything in the world right now. _This was a mistake_. Chris is way too hot for Henry's peace of mind.

"I should probably get someone in to do something with mine," Chris says, cracking open his beer and taking a seat. "It's pretty... rough-looking. I have all these boxes I've never unpacked."

"I know what you mean. I'd be the same way. In fact all my boxes are still in the storage closet off the driveway. Eventually it will be time to move on again."

Suddenly Henry grins as a German Sheppard bounds up the stairs from the beach and goes straight to Chris with copious wagging of tail. "Decided to come back you old mooch?" Henry says with a laugh. "Chris, this is Charlie. Bomber was asleep last time I checked and waking him is a mistake."

"Hey, Charlie," Chris says, offering his hand for the dog to sniff and get familiar with his scent. "Aren't you a beauty? Is he purebred?" he asks Henry.

"We think so, but there are no papers. He's a rescue. I went to the shelter, our eyes met and . . . the rest is history," Henry says with a smile. "Just tell him to fuck off when you get sick of him. He loves people. He was just over at the neighbors for pets."

"I don't mind," Chris says, leaning over when Charlie lies down, scritching his belly. "It's been years since I've had dogs around on a regular basis, but when I was a kid there was never a time we didn't have one."

"I figure it was fate. I wasn't planning on going anywhere near any kind of place like that. But there I was, there was a traffic jam, and I felt pulled to go inside. Silly, I suppose, but there it is." Pulling a bottle out for himself, Henry takes the opportunity to turn his head, to study the always smiling face. "Do you miss it? Having something to stroke and pet." And God help him, Henry blushes as soon as the words are out. He turns his head, clears his throat and stares at the water.

Chris gives Henry a look. "That sounds really perverted," he teases.

Snickering helplessly, Henry drops his head. "Yes, yes it does. I didn't mean it like that!"

Chris laughs, taking a good long sip of his beer. "Um. Yeah, I do, but it just doesn't make sense for me right now."

"Sometimes I think sense is overrated," Henry says quietly. "Sense and propriety and fulfilling expectations." He's intense for just that long, swallowing the solemnity with his next sip of beer before breaking into a smile. "But then there are the paychecks and the beach houses and the trips to exotic locations . . . ."

"And striking while the iron's hot," Chris says, sitting back from scratching Charlie's belly. "I don't know about you, but I feel like this is my chance to make it, and if I don't do it now..." He shrugs. "I'd like to reach a point where I've proven myself enough that I can pretty much pick and choose my projects and I'm definitely not there yet."

Henry watches as Charlie heaves himself up when the petting stops to come around to him, asking for more. Henry complies with his unspoken wishes, scratching him behind the ears. "I feel the same. Right now I need to get myself out there. I'd say you've done that with _Thor_. I suppose _Superman_ will be my shot."

"Yeah. I'd say you've already had _Tudors_ but TV and movies are totally different, aren't they?"

"They are. As is the audience for a period piece like _The Tudors_. The man of steel should lift me out of that bit of obscurity, I hope."

"I bet it will," Chris says, eyes twinkling. "Everyone's going to take one look at the hot new Superman and swoon like crazy."

The compliment takes Henry by surprise, and his belly flips over at hearing the words from Mr. Sex Personified, himself. He can feel himself blushing again, but he hopes it'll be hidden in the bright the sun. "Well thanks, Mr. Sex on Legs." He forces himself to sound like he's teasing.

Chris laughs and throws back the rest of his beer. "Drink up," he says, wondering at his need to skirt the edges with Henry every time they're together. "I promised I'd get you out on a board."

Finishing up his own, Henry drops down to one knee to give Charlie a ruffle, and chooses that moment to look up at Chris. "I'm all yours," he says and yes, he's enjoying danger of it, and the fantasy from it he'll enjoy later.

 _I wish._ The words are right there, on the tip of Chris's tongue, but he doesn't give them voice. Bites them back so hard there's a metallic tang in his mouth. "You might be sorry you said that," he says instead, grin firmly back in place.

"Doubt it," Henry shoots right back, standing up before they can bog down in this weird thrust-parry they're doing. He's been known to act on less internal dare than this--though not in the sexual arena. "I bet you're a good instructor."

"I've been told I am but maybe they were just kissing my ass," Chris says, picking up his wetsuit and starting to pull it on.

"People do that a lot, do they? Kiss your ass?" Henry shoots back, all perfectly guy-teasing-guy innocent. He grabs his wetsuit off the back of the chair he'd left it on earlier and starts feeding himself into the neoprene.

Chris laughs. "Sometimes. If they're scared of me," he adds, enjoying the banter.

Snickering, Henry shakes his head. "I can't see that. Being afraid of a gentle giant like you." Still teasing? Maybe. Maybe not. Okay, not.

"You don't think I can be scary?" Chris stands up, shoulders back, looming over Henry. "Intimidating?" he growls, poking Henry in the chest with one long finger.

Henry looks up into Chris's eyes, then down at his finger currently causing a little bit of pain. And then he looks back up again. "You've got to come with more than that, Megalon." Sounds good, right? He wonders if his racing pulse is as palpable as it feels, and if Chris just saw that deep swallow that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with lust.

"Yeah?" Chris flattens that hand against Henry's chest and gives him a push backwards.

Henry rocks back on one foot, but he refuses to actually allow himself to be pushed backward. His cock, however, is completely at the mercy of the big man standing in front of him. Every display of power plays a little bit more on his nerves and he's sure he's going to give himself away before the day's over. "That all you got, mate?"

"Depends," Chris says, thinking it's a been a _long_ time since he's rough-housed with his brothers. "How much can you take?"

Henry's smile is slow and challenging. "Got to catch me, first." He takes his moment of surprise, scrambling between the two deck chairs and heading toward the steps to the beach at a dead run.

Chris goes right after Henry, waiting until they're well on the sand before he lunges, grabbing one leg and bringing Henry down. His forward motion propels him even further though and he ends up landing right on the other man, groin snug against Henry's ass, knocking the breath right out of both of them.

Henry feels much like he's just been run over by a runaway train. Lying there trying to breath, he has a little time between attempts to suck air to appreciate the way Chris is good and snug against his arse. He really, really needs to nip this kind of play in the bud.

Easier said than done when all he wants is more: more Chris, more pain, more of being overwhelmed by the man's strength and size. He groans into the sand and forces himself to push back, to at least pretend to fight.

"Say uncle," Chris demands, shifting, hands closing over Henry's wrists, pinning him to the sand, his cock starting to react to Henry's closeness.

"Not a bloody chance in hell!" Could that be? Is that . . . ? Henry ignores what might be a hard-on growing against his ass, passing it off as a bunching of fabric or the exuberance of the chase and capture.

Capture. Not for long. He surges up and wiggles, then twists. He has three older brothers, he's not going down with out a fight.

When he's not pumped up to play Thor, Henry might have a chance of taking Chris, but with an extra twenty pounds of pure muscle beyond what he already outweighs Henry by, there's not a hope in hell. Chris slams Henry's wrists back down on the sand and growls, "Uncle. Say it," in his ear.

Henry can't help the shudder that starts at the point where Chris's breath hits his ear and ends at his toes. He tries to hide it with another attempt to get away. Eventually, though, he does the only thing he can. He surrenders because if he doesn't, he's going to break _all_ his rules. "Fine! Uncle," he snarls and laughs at the same time. "Fucking giant!"

Chris laughs and rolls off of Henry onto the sand beside him. "You can tell we grew up with brothers, can't you?" he says, shaking his head, the knee closest to Henry bent to hide his body's reaction.

Henry pushes up onto his hands, his hips pushed hard into the sand (though he manages to keep from rocking into it). "I can tell you're a brother bully!" A few seconds later he laughs, dropping onto his ass, his own knee lifted as well. "But yes."

"Hey, you started it," Chris protests, eyes sparkling.

Henry gives that a second's thought, then nods. "Okay, that's fair." He grins at Chris and looks out over the water. "We forgot the boards."

"I'll grab them," Chris volunteers, flipping to his feet and running back to the deck.

It gives Henry a few seconds to get himself together. A deep breath and a subtle adjustment later and he's smiling when Chris comes back, the edge off just enough. "Thanks. I'm really looking forward to wiping out a few dozen times." He gives him a wink.

"I'm sure we can get you up before you hit a dozen," Chris teases, dropping one board on the beach and wading in with the other. "Come on."

Grabbing the other board, Henry heads out to the water, handling the board with a certain amount of certainty. So far. "I'll hold you to that."

"Make sure you put your leash on," Chris says over his shoulder, fastening the velcro strap around his ankle.

"Yes, sir!" Henry calls back playfully, his cock doing a little dance at the suggestion. He's never been a leash kind of guy, really, but there's something kinky about Chris's order, anyway.

Fastening his own ankle strap, he slips onto his belly on his board. "Looks like the sea is going to be good to us today." The waves are perfect for lessons. Moderate.

"Yeah. It looks gorgeous. So, how do you usually get up? Monkey or knee?" Chris asks with a grin.

"Monkey. I'm good up until the wave crests and I start heading down. Then it's total wipe out," he says with a grin.

"You might be leaning forward too much," Chris says. "Try and keep your weight centred. Hands and head can be forward but you have to keep your hips centred over your feet. And you need to keep the board flat."

The second Chris begins to instruct, Henry's attention is laser focused. He nods along, visualizing it all in his head and trying it--successfully--in the shallow foam near the beach.

Dropping back down to his stomach, he gives Chris a grin. "Shall we?"

"Yup." Chris grins and starts paddling out through the waves, looking over his shoulder to make sure Henry's keeping up with him.

Henry's keeping up . . . with a few feet left between them so he can better watch Chris's powerful body move as one with the board beneath him. He groans softly to himself, the sound lost in the chop, and urges himself to paddle harder--and to work harder at ignore the sexual tension Chris brings.

It's easy for the next couple of hours. Hard to concentrate on sex when you're eating sand (and some small fish) for brunch. And then, when Chris finally accomplished the impossible and Henry rode a few waves all the way into the shore, he'd been too full of exuberance to think about sex.

"See, I told you you could do it," Chris says with a huge grin, incredibly proud of what Henry's managed to accomplish. "I think you could be really good if you keep going. It just takes some practice."

Henry's tired, but exhilarated. "That was unbelievable! What a rush. It was the balance check. You knew just what I was doing wrong. Thanks, Chris. Now I'll be waking up early to surf everyday."

"Seriously?" Chris isn't sure whether Henry's pulling his leg or if he really did do that great a job of helping him turn things around.

"Hell yes, I honestly did think I was terminally unsurfable. You proved otherwise. Now I'll be out to master it." Rubbing his hair dry, he drops the towel onto one of the low beach chairs he's got set up near the fire set up. "Hungry? I've got steaks as big as our heads."

"Famished," Chris says with a wide easy grin, shaking his own hair out and stripping out of his wetsuit. "And I'll take another beer too."

"Coming right up, sir," Henry chirps out, intending it to be a light, military-type banter. Instead it resonates within him and he has to turn away quickly to hide the blush now riding high on his cheeks. "I'll . . . be right back." Trotting toward the house, Henry berates himself twenty ways from Sunday.

Chris watches Henry go, cursing the arousal pooling in his groin. _Sir._ He knows it's a joke, a tease, but what he'd give to actually have Henry on his knees, the word on his lips for real... He towels off quickly, roughly, trying to tamp down the lust he's feeling.

Henry takes a few minutes to stand in front of the freezer when he retrieves the beer. Hanging his head, he silently chants to himself about control, considering all the time how ridiculous it is that he has to. He's not in high school, for fuck's sake. Giving a deep sigh, he closes the door, grabs the beer and the platter of steaks and steps out onto the deck.

Henry looks so hot it almost takes Chris's breath away. So much for tamping down anything. "You're pretty pumped for _Immortals_ ," he says, taking the beer from the other man. "Are they going to have you stay the same size or pump up even more for _Superman_?"

"They want more. No magic pumped up muscles anymore," Henry says with a heavy, playful sigh.

He's not even aware that he's popped the top on the beer before handing it over, it's so natural to him to serve, but when he figures it out he also figures it's not that big a deal. He turns his attention to lighting the grill while reminding himself--again--to be careful.

"I can send you my meal plan and workout if you want," Chris offers, taking a sip from his beer, his eyes on Henry, on the curve of his jaw and the plane of his cheekbone. "Unless you already have someone helping you?"

"I don't, actually," Henry answers, too acutely aware of Chris's gaze on him to add two and two and wonder why he's being watched so closely. "The studio says they're going to assign me a trainer."

Chris nods. "That's good. I'll send you my stuff and you can go over it with him. I've had an amazing trainer for _Thor_ but you know those guys - they like to have you do it their way."

 _Especially if your trainer comes from Citadel._ "That they do. Downright bossy and sadistic, personal trainers are."

"You sound like you don't exactly mind bossy and sadistic," Chris observes. He's getting some sort of vibe from Henry but god knows it might only be his imagination. What he wishes was there.

 _Steady . . ._ Henry takes a sip of his beer and settles casually onto a deck chair, giving a shrug. "Long as they get the job done, right?" he says. "Personally, as much as I like to work out--and I do--I don't like to work out as much as I'm going to need to, so someone barking orders at me can only help, yeah? Unless she's a she, then an entirely different program of persuasion should be in play." He throws a knowing glance at Chris, his grin all but a leer, all the time his inner self is laughing at that.

"True," Chris nods, laughing, his heart sinking strangely. His imagination is right. Henry's probably as straight as they come and Chris would do himself a huge favour calling an end to this friendship before it develops any further. The last thing he needs is to be pining after one of his mates.

There's some sort of tension in the air; for the first time, the silence isn't as comfortable as it's been since he met Chris. He has to wonder if he's not been as convincing as he'd thought.

Struggling to bring back the easy camaraderie, he waves his beer toward the grill and changes the subject. "How do you like it?"

"Rare, medium-rare," Chris says, shaking himself from his reverie with a grin. "I like it still bloody." Determined to the enjoy the rest of the evening regardless.

"I knew you had taste," Henry shoots back. "I'll pass it over the coals until the mooing stops then plate it up." Better. Henry's becoming addicted to Chris's smile. That's not really a good thing. Watching the waves crash against the shore for a few long moments, he makes a difficult decision. Tonight is his, tomorrow his schedule will suddenly become iffy. Spending too much time with this man will only bring heartache before it's over.

Chris laughs. "Sounds perfect." He downs the rest of his beer and waves the empty bottle at Henry. "Mind if I grab another?" At least half-drunk he has an excuse for anything stupid he does.

"Make yourself at home, Chris," Henry insists. "You know what, let's relocate the beer into a cooler and just keep it handy."

They do that and Chris settles back on his lounger with another beer, the alcohol slowly spreading through his system, warming him, making it easier to be around Henry while wanting to fuck him. "You need me to help with anything?" he asks, motioning at dinner.

Henry shakes his head. "Not unless you have a burning desire. I threw the potatoes on when I fired up the grill. They should be ready soon, and the steaks'll only take a couple of minutes. There's a salad in the house." Straddling one of the table chairs, Henry stretches, the cord of his throat straining as he raises his face to the sky. "I'll sleep good tonight."

"Yeah, water's good for that," Chris says, watching Henry stretch, eyes on his bared throat, his groin tightening again.

"Thank you," Henry says sincerely, dropping his head and looking at him, catching his eyes. "Learning new things is something I find very precious. You did that for me today."

Chris smiles. "You're welcome. I knew you couldn't be as bad as you thought," he says, taking another sip of his beer.

"I suppose it took the right guiding hand," Henry answers, draining half his beer in one long pull. Maybe he _can_ play a little. It's not like Chris will know what he's talking about.

"And I've always been told I'm a good teacher," Chris says, nodding, although Henry's words put other images, other thoughts, in his brain.

"What else do you like to teach?" Henry's voice has dropped into a quieter register. Maybe it's the beer, maybe it's just that he's tired of keeping to himself or Citadel doms, probably a combination of the two--whatever it is, he's giving in and letting himself bask in Chris's natural power just a little bit. Dangerous. Very, very dangerous. And so bloody intoxicating.

"Anything I'm good at," Chris says after a moment spent contemplating the question. "Sailing, surfing, rock climbing... other things," he adds, unable to resist, what with the way Henry's now watching him. And so maybe it wasn't just his imagination. Or maybe he's lost all fucking perspective now.

Resting his cheek on the back of the chair, Henry considers what those "other things" might be. He doesn't ask. He doesn't want to ruin fantasy with reality. "I should put the steaks on," he murmurs, though he doesn't get up just yet.

"Yeah." Chris nods, licking his lips, still staring at Henry. "I'm starving."

Watching Chris's tongue bathe his always smiling lips . . . well it's the height of Henry's day so far. When he gets up, he's sorry he'd straddled that chair. There's no way to hide the effect of Chris's presence for at least a couple of seconds. He tries to move fast.

The way he's staring at Henry, there's no way for Chris not to notice the bulge at the other man's crotch. His own cock starts to swell in response almost instantly and he bites back a soft groan, all the blood rushing from his head to his groin. But as inebriated as he already is, Chris can't help but want to know if _he's_ the cause. He gets up from the lounger and follows Henry. "You sure there's nothing I can help with?"

Henry's skin breaks out in goose bumps when Chris comes closer, but he's determined to ignore them. Beer. He needs more beer. "I could use another one, if you don't mind," he says, handing off the old bottle to Chris without a word. Not a typical Henry move and it shifts his focus just for a moment, letting him breathe. "I'm so hungry I've got fuckin' wood for this steak." Just in case he saw it, right?

"Yeah?" Chris stacks the one bottle with the empties and cracks open another, crowding Henry as he brushes up against his back and reaches around him. "Here."

Henry shivers, and the only thing he can do to hide it is move. He shifts hard to the side and back against Chris with his hip, crowding him right back breaking away in the process. He tries to disguise it as a move toward the steaks. He clears his throat as quietly as he can. "Thanks, mate." He manages to get it out without a hitch in his breath.

"You're welcome," Chris says, staying right where he is, his eyes still locked on Henry. Wondering if he dares.

"Deck's a little smaller than usual with the great Thor aboard," Henry jokes. He tries to give it an edge; to suggest without suggesting that Chris move out of his way, but considering that it's the last thing he really wants it probably isn't going to work. Damn it he's doing a lot of "trying" lately.

Tonight. Henry gets tonight. Tomorrow he'll get "too busy" for casual fun. . . Maybe he should start practicing saying that in his head.

"Might wanna back up while I put these on . . . in case of flare-ups and all," Henry manages, his cock screaming at him all the while.

"Yeah, of course," Chris says, taking a step back. Maybe it's just been too long since he did anything with anyone who wasn't employed by Citadel.

The sizzle of the steaks as they hit the grill covers Henry's sigh. "So when do you have to be back in New Mexico?"

"Monday. We just have weekends free for another month or so," Chris says, polishing off what's left of his third or maybe fourth beer. He's lost count.

Flipping the steaks, Henry pulls the potatoes off to give them a minute to cool before the meat is ready. Laying them on a plate on the table, he lifts his eyes to Chris. "You must be close to exhausted. Long filming week then a day spent on the water. Or does the second help with the first?"

"It helps but I'm definitely exhausted. I got in late last night and slept until about an hour before I had to come over here," Chris says, cracking open another beer for himself. "But I'm still tired. It's that weird sort of bone-deep exhaustion. I probably won't get rid of it until we wrap."

"You have my sympathies. During filming for _The Tudors_ I used to make use of the masseuse offered me at least once a week, usually on the night before my day off. I'd get a massage, soak in a hot tub and take a couple of Nyquil before bed. It seemed to help." Henry turns back to the steaks, placing them on a platter to rest. _Not to mention the beating I'd take to let off steam._

"Yeah, I should probably do that," Chris agrees, nodding, watching Henry handle the steaks. Order up some pretty boy to beat and fuck the hell out of and then go for a massage. "My shoulders are still pretty tight."

"Well, I'm no professional, but I do know something about it, if you want me to work on them some." Henry goes deer-in-the-headlights still as he listens to the words go from brain to mouth to Chris's ears.

"That would be great," Chris says with a broad easy smile. "After dinner?"

 _Shite, shite, shite._ "Sure. Dinner first, though, I'm starving." Dropping into a dining chair, he forks out a steak and a potato for Chris and one for himself, giving up on the salad he's left in the house. He's way too turned on to get up right now.

"Me too," Chris agrees, cutting into his steak and taking a bite. He groans with pleasure. "This is good. Really good."

"Only the best for the gods," Henry teases, taking a bite of his own and sighing happily. The groan from Chris? Well it's not helping his cock get any softer.

Chris grins and digs into his potato as well. "So, now that I've taken you surfing, when are you going to get me out riding?"

"I was thinking about that, actually. How about next weekend? There's a ranch east of here. We could go for the night. They have a riding-camping package available." _Shite, Cavill! Whatever happened to busy!_

"That sounds great," Chris says, genuinely enthused. Besides... camping with Henry? How could he pass that up? And right now he's ignoring the code. Completely.

Henry smiles, then bends his head over his food. The names he's calling himself in his head? He'd never let a dom get away with them.

"I haven't gone camping in ages," Chris continues, between bites of steak and potato. "Not since I was home and it was before Liam met Miley so... _years_ at least."

"Nothing quite like a quiet night in front of a campfire and sleeping outdoors. At least if you find the right place."

Chris nods. "Have you gone camping there before?" he asks, making quick work of another beer along with his meal.

"I have, actually. I miss riding and I wanted a nice long trip out, rather than just a couple of hours trail ride. We should probably plan a shorter ride for you, though. Wouldn't want you to report to work on Monday with a sore arse." And with that, Henry downs the rest of his beer and cracks another.

"When are you working next?" Chris asks, keeping his voice completely neutral when he adds, "Do we have to worry about your arse?"

And there goes the rest of _that_ beer. "Um, no, I . . . still in pre-prod for Man of Steel but, um, I'm used to riding. My arse will be fine." Henry's pretty damn proud of himself for not choking on that.

"Good," Chris says, allowing himself a small smile. "It'd be pretty funny if we both showed up for work hurting."

"We'll pack in extra pillows," Henry assures him.

Handing over another beer, Henry glances into Chris's eyes before he lets go. "Cab or stay the night, right?"

"Yeah. Sure," Chris murmurs, fingers brushing Henry's as he takes the beer from him. "You okay with me bunking here?" That way he won't have to come back to pick up his Jeep.

"Yep. That's fine." _More than fine. Sleep in my bed, please? Let's have wild monkey sex?_ Suddenly, Henry bursts into laughter at his thoughts.

Chris grins. Uncertain. "What?"

"I . . . too much beer," Henry tries, waving a hand at him, giving himself time to make something up. "I was just wondering if you'd fit or if your feet will stick out the foot of the bed."

"I'm not _that_ big," Chris protests but he's laughing too.

Henry's still laughing, but he manages to spit the words out. "Beer goggles."

Chris laughs even harder. "Right. Beer's a good excuse for almost anything."

For some reason that just has Henry laughing harder. This is becoming a pattern with them. He doesn't mind.

"Do you remember telling me about the giant ring box?" Chris asks.

Henry blinks, the laughter stopping as abruptly as it had begun. "I told you about the giant ring box?" He tries not to think about the way the slot--supposedly for the ring--had held him in place as he'd been bent over by . . . . Shifting in his chair, he clears his throat. And drinks more beer.

"Oh, now I know there's more to the tale," Chris says, pointing a finger at Henry, that shifting piquing his curiosity. "Come on. Spill."

"I . . . well . . . I didn't tell you the whole story?" he asks somewhat weakly.

"No, you didn't. Come on. You know I won't say anything," Chris promises, crossing his heart.

Searching frantically for something--anything--that he can say that's mostly truth but not too much, Henry finally settles on sharing just a little. While giving away nothing at all. "It was just a little awkward and--ultimately--embarrassing. You see, our legs were in the slot where the ring would normally sit and there was a lot of jostling and moving around, as you do you know, and . . . well . . . the lid fell down. Plunged us into darkness." He lightens up as he goes along, realizing he's managed to pull off yet another subterfuge.

"And you made the most of the opportunity...?"

"Well, we were actually already sort of making the most of it . . ." And Henry blushes.

"Before the lid came down?" Chris clarifies.

"Yes. That's what caused the lid to come down," Henry murmurs. Oh look, there goes another beer.

"You stud, you," Chris teases, unable to resist. "You must have been giving her a real pounding." _Just like I want to do to you._

"Long blond hair," Henry reminisces, sitting back and tracing the lip on his bottle. "Most beautiful arse. . ." _Muscles. A heavy hand._

"Christ." Chris sits back too, taking a long drink of his beer and shaking his head. "Now I know I need to get laid."

 _Yes, please, right here . . . I'll help you with that._ Twisting off yet another cap, Henry glances over his shoulder. "I could introduce you to my neighbor. I'm pretty sure all you'd have to do is crook your finger in her direction."

"What's she look like?" Chris asks, slurring a little. He's almost to the end of another beer and he has no intention of stopping.

"Brown hair, big tits, long legs . . . Hot." He supposes.

"I like brunettes," Chris says, downing the last sip from his bottle and holding his hand out for another. "What about her arse?"

Handing over another beer, Henry sighs, propping his head on his hand. "Round. Tight. Looks good in short shorts."

"Have you fucked her?" Chris asks, cracking open what he thinks is roughly his sixth or seventh. He's definitely lost count now. Hoping the answer's no.

"No. Too complicated, having her next door, you know?" Is that his voice, slurring things? Henry wonders.

Chris nods. "Yeah, I was just thinking that," he says. "Especially if you and I keep doing stuff." He leans forward again, elbows on the table. "That was a great meal. You want some help cleaning up?"

"No thank you," Henry murmurs, leaning forward to. "You just sit there looking all pretty."

"You mean I get to do nothing and still get a shoulder rub?" Chris teases. He hasn't forgotten. Not for one second.

"Yup. It's what I do," Henry says matter-of-factly, getting up and piling up plates, platters and utensils. "Be right back."

Chris sits back again. Heavily. Watching Henry disappear into the house. Once again he's playing with fire, although if he's truthful with himself, he never really stopped. Nor does he want to. He's grown sick and tired of having every scene take place in the same sort of room with the same sort of boy being paid to do the same sort of things. He wants this. He wants Henry. He wants something that isn't safe, isn't structured, isn't to code. And even if he can't have Henry - even if the other man _is_ straight, he wants this playful flirtation, this sexy sort of awkwardness, this _promise_ \-- hell, even this tease -- of something more. Something possible.

Henry isn't one to waste advantage. In this case, the time it takes to square away the dishes and the kitchen, he's got his feet solidly under him again. Or as solidly as one does when you're three sheets to the wind.

Grabbing a bottle of oil and a towel, Henry strides back out onto the balcony. "Straddle a chair, dude."

Chris stands, flipping a chair around and then straddling it as instructed. His crotch pressed against the back, he bites back a soft groan, knowing it's going to take every bit of willpower he has left not to give himself away with Henry's hands on him.

He's been staring at Chris's body all day long, but this? This is a rare and real treat. He can touch. And he can serve. And he can pretend it means nothing. Squeezing some oil onto his hands, he starts on his upper left, careful not to dig in too deep.

Chris groans with pleasure at the touch. He hadn't been lying when he'd said his shoulders were tight but he also hadn't realized just how tight until Henry starts touching him. He actually needs this. Not just wants it. _Needs_ it. "That feels good," he murmurs.

Nothing like a sweet groan of pleasure and sweet words to follow up to get a boy revved. This time, though, Henry is focused on Chris's needs and not his own unruly desires. Careful not to poke while he prods, he works the muscles for maximum effect, drawing on a class he'd taken at Citadel.

One groan follows another, Chris feeling the tension slowly leave his body. "You're good at this," he says, opening his eyes and glancing over his shoulder. "Did you learn somewhere?"

"I took a class, once. Something I thought would come in handy. Honestly I've been so busy I haven't had much chance to put it into practice," Henry answers quietly, his eyes traveling over the strong planes of Chris's profile.

"Well, it feels really good," Chris says, closing his eyes again and putting his head down. "You have good hands."

"Thank you. . ." Henry has to bite down the honorific that he almost utters without thought. Something about this man brings it out in him. Chris is strong, a natural leader, and Henry's natural follower is responding in double portions.

"You can keep going if you want," Chris murmurs. "My lower back's pretty tight too."

Backing off slightly, Henry taps Chris's shoulder very gently. "Why don't you come inside and stretch out on the dining table. I'll do this right." Picking up the towel and oil in one hand, he holds his other hand out to help Chris up.

"You sure your table'll hold me?" Chris says, taking Henry's hand when his legs don't seem so steady, the massage helping everything - including the alcohol - circulate through his system.

"It's an old farm table my mum found. It'll be fine," Henry assures him, shifting his grip to Chris' forearm to help him. Once inside he holds up his hand. "One second." He trots away, also a little unsteadily, as he retrieves a comforter and stretches it out on top. "Get comfortable, mate."

Chris stretches out on the table, hands beneath his head, and closes his eyes. "Just don't let me sleep here," he murmurs, or maybe mumbles, he's not sure.

"I hear ya," Henry says with a smile, squeezing oil into a puddle in the hollow of the small of his back. "I'll do my best to keep you conscious."

With that he sets to work, working from the base of his spine upward first, spreading his hands out on either side like wings as he kneads from hips to neck.

"Mm." Chris sighs, feeling like he's melting into the table beneath him. He shifts a little, his cock already hardening beneath him, getting comfortable. "...magic hands."

Henry can barely bite back the soft, heartfelt moan that comes with Chris's relaxation. It's what he is, deep down inside, this person centered on making the most of another man's moments here on earth. It's something he is and yet something he has to deny and it almost makes him sad.

Almost. He pushes the emotion away, instead drinking in Chris's responses, thankful he's had enough to drink to take the edge off his sexual hunger.

"Fuck, that feels good," Chris slurs, feeling like a broken record, but it does, and it doesn't feel right to just lay there and not say anything. Especially if he wants to stay awake. His cock continues to harden though, poking him in the belly, trapped between him and the table and he shifts again, spreading his legs a little to ease things.

Henry? He's just drunk enough to accept that invitation. He doesn't push Chris's shorts down, that'd just be rude, but he moves over top of the confidently, his fingers digging in harder here, deeper, to get at the muscles where far too many people hold a lot of tension they don't even know about. He bites his lip sharply to keep from groaning out.

Chris gasps, groaning raggedly as Henry's fingers work out every last bit of tension. "Yeah, that's it," he murmurs, his cock jerking again beneath him.

Those words? Those _particular_ words? They might as well be attached to a string tied around Henry's dick. He shifts a step or two down toward Chris's feet to try to keep his cock--hard and wanting--from showing too much of itself to Chris's peripheral vision.

"Would you be okay with going a little lower?" Chris asks, lifting his head and reaching back for the waistband of his shorts. "My tailbone's fucked up from a fall I took a couple years back."

Swallowing and clearing his throat--again trying to keep it quiet--Henry nods, then answers aloud. "No problem." He's been lower already, but this different. This is getting really close to the warm, inviting crease of Chris's ass.

Henry's hands are shaking a bit when he presses his fists into the flesh on either side of Chris's tailbone and begins to massage the offending muscles with his thumbs.

"Oh, fuck, yeah, that's it," Chris moans, unabashed, that bit of tension and pain the worst for him. "Right there."

Henry's want is growing by leaps and bounds, but--conversely--his need is calming in direct relationship to the sounds of pleasure and satisfaction from Chris. What's going on in Henry's mind now is much purer than sex. By meeting Chris's needs he's meeting his own much deeper desires. It quiets him and his focus becomes drawing more of those noises of bliss from Chris' lips.

"Unh, feels _so_ good," Chris mumbles, groans, the pressure almost too much at times but the relief it leaves behind making it worth it. "You might want to watch out," he says. "I might be spoiled for anyone else doing this and I doubt you want to become my personal masseur."

Now there's an idea. "There's probably room in my trailer in Illinois," Henry says with a smile. "Deep breath." He digs in hard a few seconds after, working on a knot deep under the skin. The warm, alive, pink skin that feels so good under his fingers.

Chris curses beneath his breath, the pressure turning into outright pain before the knot loosens and pleasure and relief floods through his system. His cock spurting a little. _Fuck._ "Um," his cheeks flush red, adding to the effects of the alcohol. "You might want to stop now. It feels too good. I'm gonna end up making a mess of your blanket." Better to confess now than have Henry discover it when he gets up.

That pulls Henry up short. He stops, but his hands rest warmly and heavily on Chris's arse. "Really?" he ask, "from this?" He can't keep the husky note from his voice.

"Well, I'm not sure I'd actually come," Chris says, lifting his head up and bracing on his elbows. "But yeah, I'm hard and... I'm.. that last part, when you let go, it felt so good." His cheeks even hotter when he adds, "I'll pay to have the blanket cleaned."

Uh oh. That strikes Henry as incredibly funny, somehow. It's a blanket. It goes in the washer. And there's Chris looking like a guilty school boy.

The first laugh comes out in a spurt of sound. The next bubbles up until he can't stop, laughing out loud giving away to wheezing, Henry bent over the table to keep from falling over.

"Asshole," Chris says, shaking his head. But he's still grinning, unable to help himself.

Henry just wheezes a little longer. When he finally straightens up, he manages a completely deadpan expression. "That'll be one dollar forty-five for the electricity and water for the washer." Once he gets it out there's a smile tugging at his lips again, threatening to start him laughing all over again.

Chris sighs and rolls his eyes. "How the hell am I supposed to know it can go in the washer?" he says, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side.

Henry gives a chuckle, looking up through his lashes at Chris. "Well, it's not like it's made of silk, now is it?" He grins and pats Chris's leg recklessly, high on his thigh. "S'no problem," he slurs. "Just hope it helped."

"Not really. You're welcome to give me a hand with that too if you want," Chris says, playing at teasing, his hand placed over Henry's, inching it higher.

Aand Henry goes ghost white, deer-in-the-headlights, shocked from head to toe. He's not aware of jerking his hand away, or of backing off rather dramatically. He's too drunk to be able to control his reactions at all in any kind of effective manner so he just stands where he is, backed against the wall and stares.

Fuck. So much for any lingering doubts Chris might have. Henry's obviously as straight as they come and Chris just screwed up big-time. "Hey. I'm just yanking your chain," he says, laughing it off. "Don't look so fucking scared."

"I . . . " Henry laughs nervously, stops, then laughs again. "Yeah, I just . . . you just surprised me is all."

"Yeah." Chris quiets, staring at Henry for a moment. "Thanks for the massage. Everything feels a lot better," he says, getting down from the table. "Where's your washer? I'll put this through," gathering the blanket into his arms and ignoring the fact he's still standing there, hard as hell, with a large damp spot on the front of his shorts. They're supposed to be quick-dry anyway.

Henry reaches out, gently taking a corner of the comforter. "Chris. I didn't mean . . . I'm drunk. I was just . . . ." Oh _bollocks_ , should he just tell already?

"It's okay. I told you I was just giving you grief, and I don't mind being laughed at," Chris says, summoning a smile. "Just show me where to put this."

"It's just through there," Henry says, gesturing weakly before turning around to lead him into the laundry room just off the kitchen. He feels like shite, not knowing if Chris had been serious, had really been "yanking his chain" or if his reaction had tipped him off to his own feelings or insulted Chris if he _is_ gay.

Thoughts swirling, mood greatly fucked up, Henry pumps some soap into the machine and then steps out of the way. "Want another beer?"

"That'd be great," Chris says, shoving the blanket into the washer. "This one?" he asks, motioning at the knob he assumes turns it on.

"Yeah, that's the one." Henry watches as he sets the washer and then wanders into the kitchen, meeting him with the beer as he comes out. "I'm glad you feel better."

Chris smiles. If he had any sense, he'd call it a night and head home but apparently he doesn't and the last thing he wants is for Henry to think he was truly offended. "You really do have magic hands," he says, taking a sip and gesturing towards the deck. "Want to go back out?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's. I have a fire set at the beach, if you're inclined, though it might be a little warm, up close."

"That sounds great." Chris's smile broadens. "Any marshmallows?" His eyes twinkling.

Henry grins. "S'matter of fact . . . " Reaching into the cabinet on the other side of Chris, he pulls down a bag of pastel colored Stay-Puft. He gives the bag a wry look. "Only ones they had."

Chris cracks up. "Works for me. Do we need to dig up some sticks?" he asks, glad they seem to be back on easy footing.

"Sticks are good. I have a few set down by the fire as a matter of course. Even have the tips stripped of bark," Henry says with a grin, bumping against him companionably, all awkwardness forgotten just that fast.


End file.
